Just Keep Pushing On
by kaigedbird
Summary: Hermione's hurting and no one can see it..except Luna. Will she be able to pull Hermione out of her depression?
1. Chapter 1

I don't know where I'm going, not really. I'm walking south past a patch of enchanted daisies that never go out of season. I've got to clear my head. I haven't done this in a while. I used to do it once a week. Just to put things in perspective. I've been so stressed lately, I haven't found the time. I lay down on the damp green grass, not caring that I'm getting my robes wet. I take a deep breath and start to clear my head by listing the things that I am completely sure of.

My name is Hermione Granger.

I am a muggle born fourth year student currently attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

My two closest friends are Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley.

I have been top in every single one of my classes, excluding Divination.

Why is that all I can think of? With all the things that I have been through, why am I only sure of four of them? Where is my head lately? I've lost my mind, I can't find it. Perhaps I should put up wanted posters for it. I laugh in spite of myself. Maybe this is what a mid-life crisis was like. But of course, I am no where near mid-life. Or am I? With Voldemort running loose, it's hard to tell when I will die. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next year. All it takes is two words...

_What is going on with me?_ I have never been this negative, and I have faced imminent death a good number of times. I feel lost, with no purpose. All these books that I've read and I'm no wiser when it comes to-when it comes to "what it all means" to put it in muggle form. I have perfect marks, but I don't know anything about myself. I've never even had a proper boyfriend. I'm worthless. There's nothing special about me. Nothing desirable. I'm just an encyclopedia with legs, and as soon as wizards create a system like the internet, I will be cast aside. What good does my brain do if I don't know how to keep proper conversation and I'll grow old alone?

I dig my nails into my forearm. I hate this. I hate me. I am disgusting. Not pretty at all like Cho. I see how Harry looks at her, how every boy looks at her. She is so damned beautiful, with her perfect hair and crystal smile. And then she had to go and be extraordinary at quidditch too while I am about as graceful as an ogre when I am in the air—or anywhere else really.

I begin to sob, rather pathetically. I'm still lying down on my back, so my tears fall backward into the ground instead of down my cheek. I wonder if Harry and Ron are looking for me. I should get back. I hear something. A rustling in the bushes? Of course. I'm going to die in the most unremarkable of ways, by a rogue beast like the common girls in the muggle movies.

"Why are you crying? And hurting yourself?" the unsettling airy voice of Luna Lovegood called, misplaced in the darkness.

What is she doing out here so late? It must be almost twelve in the morning? Probably looking for nargles.

"I'm not crying. Or hurting myself," I say in my usual matter-of-fact tone.

"Lumos," she calls.

This is the first good look I've gotten at my arm since before I came to this place. There are four semi-circles of blood lining my forearm. The entire area around each cut is pink.

"Why did you do that?"

"I slipped," I retort, but my voice falls flat.

She comes closer and I realize that she has a satchel over one of her arms. From it she pulls a gorgeous crimson plant that she promptly snaps in half. It begins to ooze a violent purple goo which she takes and rubs over my cuts. My arm is immediately relieved and I can feel new skin beginning to form over the bloody crescents on my arm.

"What is that?"

"A fraielsing plant."

"I've never heard of it."

She smiles sadly before saying, "There are a lot of things you don't hear about in those books of yours, Hermione."

I don't know whether to be insulted or stunned by this, so I just decide to stay quiet and hope that she changes the subject.

"Why did you do this?" she asks.

"I didn't mean to. It was an accident."

"Please don't lie. It upsets your aura."

"You sound like Professor Trelawny."

"Why did you hurt yourself?"

"It was just something to do."

Luna gets up swiftly and cast a pained look at me.

"You're beautiful, Hermione, but you lie too easily. When you come to terms with what you're dealing with, please find me. I can help, but only if you let me," she said in an exasperated tone before she disappears into the darkness that she came from.

That was the strangest conversation I've had, and it leaves me more confused than I have ever been.


	2. Chapter 2

I'm walking through the corridors now, still lost. A breeze is blowing gently. I can't feel it, I'm numb all over, but I see my hair blowing around me. I long for the cloak. If Filch catches me…well I suppose nothing too terrible would happen. What's the worst I could get? Two weeks detention? Somehow.. that doesn't bother me. I suppose being expelled, that would be bad, but they wouldn't dare expel me. I'm the smartest person here. I'm better than any single person at Hogwarts , this school would be nothing without me. Hell, I could run this school.

What am I _thinking? _I'm only a student, a fourth year for heaven's sake. I can't let myself have these thoughts. They make me sound like I don't care, and I can't afford not to care. Voldemort didn't care, and now look at him. He killed Harry's parents! Letting my thoughts run amuck like this, it won't be long before I become like him. I can't let myself think that life is worthless, or it will become worthless. If I don't care, I'm not human, and through all of this, human is one of the main things I like being.

I think back to my conversation with Luna in the clearing. It was so strange, not just the circumstances, but her words and her expressions as well. She could barely see me in the dark of the night, but it felt as though she was seeing through me. It made me feel suprisingly…scared. _HA! Scared of Luna Lovegood? She couldn't intimidate Neville! _I think to myself. Yet…I was scared of her. Scared because I'm normally perfectly good at hiding my emotions, but she read me like a picture book. Scared because I realize that she only sees the truth and that's something that, though I've devoted my life to, I can't see half the time. Maybe it's her unfaltering innocense or because she's just plain strange, but she sees something in me and I'm not sure that I can hide this from her.

I remember her offer. _I can help you Hermione, but only if you let me. _I want to believe that she can help me, that she knows what I'm going through, but I can't. How could she? I don't even know what I'm going through. I want to let her save me, but I can't …I'm falling…falling down a deep hole and there isn't enough rope in the world to pull me up to reality again. I arrive at the painting that leads into the Gryffindor common room (whose name and place of origin escape me at the moment) after some time.

"What're you doing out this late? I have a mind to tell Headmaster Dumbledore about this!" she croaks ridiculously.

I regard her with a raised eyebrow, and I don't know whether it because she was bluffing about calling Dumbledore or because I look pathetic, but her eyes soften and she opens without even asking me the password. I walk in without giving her a second glance, instead giving the ground a firm look as I pass by, and almost walk right by Ron, who is sprawled over two very large maps.

"OI! Hermione, where you been?" Ron asks, and for once I think I might have been missed.

"Oh, just in the library researching house elves. Interesting fact, did you know—"

"Did you finish my Charms homework? Flitwick will have my head if I don't turn it in tomorrow," Ron cuts in impatiently.

Of course. He didn't care at all. He just needed some homework.

"Erm—I haven't actually. It's mostly done, do you think you could do the rest now, because I really want to go to bed and you look like you may be up a while longer-"

"Hermione," he began with a groan, "I'm trying to be nice here but you have been slacking lately and my grades have been taking the toll! Now please just sit down and finish what you started, okay? Good."

If I were the old me, I would have called him a few choice words and stormed off in a huff. But instead, I sit down silently next to him and begin to work.


	3. Chapter 3

I'm up till four finishing Ron's charms homework, and by the time it's done I am so tired it's all I can do to stop myself from falling asleep on my way to my dormitory. I hit my pillow with a thump, and suddenly I can't force my eyes to stay shut. I need to think, to let my mind race for a while. So I curl into a ball under my thick comforter and just breathe. I can go for hours like this, breathing slowly and letting my mind do the work. It gets quite hot under the comforter, so hot that some people might find it unbearable. To me, it's perfect thinking temperature, which is good because I spend most of my time thinking.

I don't like when Ron gets like he did, but it's been unavoidable since that warm September night so many months ago. I wish I could take it back, but I can't. We used to laugh. Sure we'd fight, but it was always about things that we could bounce back from quickly. Now we can barely stay in the same room and he's always fussing over the schoolwork that I used to do for him with enthusiasm. But after what we did, what _I _did, how can I expect it to ever be the same?

I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't thought that I wanted to spend my entire life with him. I wouldn't have done it if I had known how awkward it would be between us from then on. I wouldn't have done it if I knew that afterward, instead of lying in his arms like I should have, I would pull my pants up hurriedly and make my escape, leaving him in a daze. I wouldn't have done it if I knew I would corner him the next day and make him swear up and down on his life that he wouldn't breathe a word what we'd done to a soul. I wouldn't have done it if I'd known the look of deep pain I would see in his eyes as he swore to me. As he swore _for me_.

But I didn't know and what's done is done. This isn't something that can be fixed with a simple apology or a time turner. This is my biggest regret. I'll carry it forever. Just to make sure I remember, I bite my arm until I draw blood. It'll bruise, and if I pick at it enough (which I will) it will scar. It's be black and blue for a while, but my robes will cover it and by the time summer swings around and I am back to wearing short sleeved shirts, the mark will have faded to a color just lighter than my skin tone, like a white ink tattoo.

You see, I'm a very logical person.


End file.
